


Silence

by Kuraagins



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Loss of Innocence, Sleazy uncle Petyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraagins/pseuds/Kuraagins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's 12 and her aunt has a new husband...</p><p>A collection of tales about Sansa's run ins with her uncle as she grows up. </p><p>Written for PxS week day 6</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely my favourite piece I've written for PxS week, I hope you guys like it as much as I do!

She's 12 and her aunt has a new husband. He's strange, she thinks, the way he smiles all the time. There's no warmth or kindness behind that smile, and it never shows in his eyes. Even during his wedding ceremony he hadn't looked genuinely happy. Sansa found that slightly off putting. 

They've been married for a couple of weeks and Sansa is staying over at their house. His house. Lysa hasn't made her mark on it yet since she's moved in. There's no tacky décor, ugly wallpapers or the stench of Lysa's too-sweet perfume. Just a nice, normal apartment in the city centre. Sansa does like his house more than she liked her aunt's last place of residence, she'll admit. 

Petyr looks at her funny over dinner. He's still smiling, but his eyes aren't empty and cold like usual. Is that... Amusement he's showing? He doesn't look away when she notices, like most would. Petyr holds her gaze, smile twisting into a smirk, eyebrow raising. It's Sansa who has to look away first, embarrassed, face turning pink. Neither Lysa nor her siblings notice anything. 

That night she lies wide awake in Robin's room that she's forced to share with the boy for the night. She wills herself to fall asleep but she's always had sleeping problems. The loud noises coming from down the hall certainly don't help her. 

The screams and shouts were impossible to block out (she had given up on holding her fingers in her ears) and it made Sansa extremely uncomfortable. She had recently done the sex-ed class in her school so she knew exactly what was going on. Procreation was essential for a marriage, especially a new one, but she had no idea that it sounded that gross. At least, her aunt Lysa sounded gross. Petyr was silent. 

 

\----------

 

She's 13 and it's Petyr's birthday. He's quite young, really, only just 31 years old. He looks older with the grey at his temples. It doesn't bother Sansa though, she thinks it makes him look quite handsome. Lysa certainly agrees with that notion, with the way she's always clinging to her husband. Petyr never seems to pay much mind to her though, and Sansa doesn't know why she likes that. 

When she had given him a hug and a kiss to wish him a happy birthday, his hand had lingered a little too long on her waist. 

"That's a pretty dress," he'd murmured into her ear, making her shiver a little. 

She likes the praise that he gives her, and it made her beam, the fact that he was the only person all night that had noticed her new dress. Green and velvet with a white satin bow tied at the back, she felt very pretty in her new garment. His comment made her feel even prettier. 

He keeps looking at her throughout the night. She's gotten used to it, his staring. If anything she takes it as a compliment. That he likes her new dress, that he thinks that she looks nice in it. Its probably weird, for an uncle to look at his niece like that. She doesn't really care. At least, not anymore. 

They cut the cake at 8 o'clock. Lysa is the one serving it up onto everyone's plates, and when Sansa gets to the table, her uncle is nowhere to be seen. She isn't even hungry, her mother had urged her to take a slice to be polite, so Sansa scrapes her slice of thick, sticky chocolate cake onto a greatful Arya's plate. The young girl instead wanders off to the upstairs bathroom. 

The door, she finds, is locked. Not that she really minds, she isn't actually desperate for the loo, she was just awfully bored downstairs. Plus she kept getting pulled into uncomfortable conversations with family members that she didn't really know. Going to the upstairs toilet was simply a means of escape, if at least for a couple minutes. 

It must be her uncle who's using the room. There aren't many people in attendance to his party (she feels a little bad for him and his lack of friends) and he was the only one that Sansa had noticed was missing. She could hear a sort of sniffing or snorting sound from behind the door. Does he have a cold? She hadn't noticed him sniffing earlier on in the evening- but what else could it be? 

He wasn't in there for very long, and she didn't hear the toilet flush or the tap run. What could he have been doing in there that required him to lock the door? When the door opens, Petyr is rubbing his nose. Remnants of what looks to be some sort of white powder on his face. He doesn't look very surprised to see her standing there, more intrigued, looking at her with a cocked eyebrow. 

"And why aren't you downstairs enjoying the party, my little bird?" He asks with a smirk. 

She gives a little shrug and points at his face. "What's that on your nose?" She questions. 

"Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to point?" He teases. "It's my medicine. I have to take it sometimes, especially when I'm around certain people. Do you understand?" He explains, giving his nose one last rub and sniffing before moving his hand to play with her hair. 

"I've never heard of medicine that you have to take through your nose before," Sansa muses. 

"Oh yes, there's lots of medicine that you have to take through your nose. Like allergy spray, for example." 

"Oh, I guess," the young girl shrugs. "Um, I need to use the toilet so..." She trails off and gestures to the doorframe that he's blocking. 

"Of course," Petyr withdraws his hand and moves to the stairs, "I'll speak to you later, sweetling," 

She likes that nickname. 

The Starks are the last to leave that night, being Lysa's closest family and all. It's close to 11 o'clock and Sansa's aunt is completely and utterly bladdered. Sansa sits awkwardly next to the woman who's laughing too loudly and completely smothering her stiff-sitting husband in affections. Pressing sloppy kisses to his neck and running her hands daringly over his legs. 

"I love you Petyr," she slurs as the Starks decide to leave. 

Sansa catches the man give his wife a fake smile, but he stays silent. 

 

\---------

 

She's 14 and her father's boss is throwing a party. She's wearing a purple dress that brushes against her knees. Her mother had tutted and told her it was too short for a respectable lady to wear. Petyr had told her that she looks simply marvellous. How was she supposed to stop the teeny-tiny crush she had been developing on the older man if he keeps complimenting her like that? 

The hall the party is being held in is ginormous. There has to be over a thousand people in attendance, and most of them Sansa has never met before in her life. The dinner is huge too, with five courses each. Sansa can hardly stomach them all, feeling very sick afterwards. Of course she doesn't dare show it, unlike Arya who lifts up her top and makes a show of rubbing her belly and complaining loudly about how she's-as she eloquently put-"gonna vom." 

The Stark family share a table with the Baratheons. Robert and his wife Cersei drink too much for Sansa's comfort, the latter going on about how the young girl "really ought to eat less if she wants to stay desirable for men." Her Joff only takes the best after all. Joffrey himself makes Sansa want to squirm, the way he looks at her. It's a little like Petyr's stare in a way, but with Joffrey's pig face and disgusting desires clear in his eyes, it just makes the sickly feeling in Sansa's stomach even worse. 

Tommen and Myrcella are rather nice she supposes, but it's hard to converse properly with them as Robert questions Sansa loudly on whether she'd enjoy marrying Joff in the future. To be polite, Sansa smiles and tells him that she's far too young to think about dating, let alone marriage, although Joffrey is a very handsome lad. She tries to imagine what it would be like marrying Joff, since Mr Baratheon is very keen on the idea, but whenever she looks at the her husband in the fantasy, he wears her uncle Petyr's face. She decides to stop imagining that. 

It's Arya who begs Sansa to help her come and find the toilets. Clearly her sister is able to see her discomfort, and Sansa makes a mental note that she owes a debt to the twelve year old. 

"I don't like that Joffrey," her sister states loudly when they are, thankfully, out of earshot. "I hope you don't have to marry him. I'd hate to have him as a brother in law."

Sansa doesn't really know what to say, so she just nods, agreeing completely with her sister's statement. Although she figures that having him as a husband would be worse than a brother in law. 

Whilst Arya is using the bathroom, Sansa decides to have a look around the vast hallways that twist around the outside of the ballroom. It's a very pretty building, kind of like a palace. With gold swirls patterned onto the walls and red velvety carpets, expensive looking vases atop mahogany tables and paintings of exquisite beauty that probably cost a fortune. Sansa imagines that she's a princess, walking through the halls of her castle, on her way to her own room, where she'll sit on her four poster bed with silk sheets, eating freshly picked strawberries, with a servant who'll sing sweet songs for her all evening. 

She's so caught up in her fantasy, twirling her skirts and skipping along the corridor, that she almost doesn't hear the voices. Gasping, she frantically looks around for some place to hide. Normally, she isn't prone to eavesdropping, and that isn't her intention, but the eldest daughter of the esteemed Eddard Stark can hardly be caught playing a childish game of pretend. 

There's a giant oak wardrobe standing to her right and she scrambles into it, listening and waiting for the footsteps to pass. She stands completely still and even tries to hold her breath, making sure that she'll make absolutely no sound. It isn't long before the voices come into earshot, and she can't seem to recognise the speaker. 

"...been making quite a scene tonight yourself Littlefinger," the flowery voice says. 

"A scene? I don't quite know what you mean Varys," the other voice chuckles. Sansa's eyes widen, it's her uncle Petyr! 

"Oh yes. I doubt anyone else has noticed, but I've seen you staring at that young niece of yours. Quite awful, that perverted gaze of yours." 

There's a long pause and Sansa can feel her brow furrow in confusion. What did that other man-or perhaps woman?- mean by that? That her uncle had a 'perverted gaze'? Sure he looked at her a lot but... 

"You don't even have the decency to deny it?" The other voice presses. 

And Petyr was silent. 

 

\----------

 

At fifteen she wonders if these feelings towards her uncle are simply because he praises her like no one else does. 

One time, she's staying over at his house for a week, and on the first night she finds him awake late at night, at his desk in his office. Not being able to sleep (she never could in that house) she did the only logical thing that one could do in that situation: take a walk around the house. 

She hears the familiar sniffing noises behind his office door, the only noise that can be heard this late (or early, technically). 

"Uncle Petyr?" She whispers, as she raps gently on the closed door, before opening it without an answer, "are you okay?" She peeps her head around the door that she's cracked open to see her uncle at his desk, the white 'medicine' on the table before him. 

She knows what that is now, too. After her biology class on drugs, she realised that the white powder that her uncle was prone to snorting was in fact cocaine. It is a medicine of sorts, she supposes. Maybe it helps him to cope with the stress of being married to her aunt Lysa, like a cigarette might. Because God knows that must be stressful. 

"Sansa," the man grins, "how nice of you to come and visit your uncle this late. Come," he pats his knee and Sansa only hesitates to shut the door behind her, before walking over to Petyr and sitting on his lap. She's as tall as him now, but it doesn't seem to bother him. 

He strokes her hair and begins to bounce her up and down in his lap like a little child. She bites back a giggle, aware of how the rest of the house is still asleep. 

"You're a good girl Sansa," he murmurs into her ear, "a good, good girl to come and visit your uncle this late." He plants a kiss on the shell of her ear. She loves it when he calls her that. 

"Uncle Petyr?" She asks, "I was wondering..." 

"Yes, sweetling?" 

"Can I try some?" She nods back to the desk, where two neat lines of powder still sit. 

He chuckles at her. "No, my dear I'm afraid not. You're still too young, too pure, too innocent," he runs his hands up and down her torso, "maybe one day. Perhaps your eighteenth, if you still want to by then," 

Sansa pouts, complaining about how long that is to wait. Petyr responds with more light kisses. It's wrong, Sansa knows, for her uncle to touch her like this, kiss her like this. But she lets him. Maybe that means that she's wrong too, but he calls her a good girl again and she's putty in his hands. 

Her notion of the reason for her feelings start to go out the window when she begins to touch herself to the thought of her uncle. It's two days after the incident in his office, and they're the only two in the house. Lysa has taken the other kids out to the cinema to keep them from complaining about boredom. Sansa had lied and said she was too sick to go, just because she wanted to try this. 

She shifts awkwardly on the bed and moves a finger to press lightly against her clit, rubbing small, quick circles against her already wet centre. Embarrassingly, she's very new to masturbation for a fifteen year old. The whimpering starts quickly, knowing that the man is just a few rooms over, and thinking of the outline of his cock which she could feel when she sat on his lap the other night. 

Her whimpers turn to moans and her moans turn to cries, and she finds that she doesn't care that he might hear. Actually... She kind of wants him to. 

And hear her does. It's his name she's crying out by the time she sees the door creak open in her peripheral vision. Petyr walks to the foot of the bed, saying nothing. He watches her intently as she moves her fingers around that sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. She moans his name again and he pulls out his phone to take a few pictures. Or maybe a video. It's awful and sinful but she doesn't care because it's him who's paying attention to her and she's too caught up in her own pleasure to stop now. 

She screams his name as she comes, and with his phone in his hand and a smirk on his face, he stays silent.

 

\----------

She's 16 and his touches are growing bolder as the years go by. They're staying in a house in the Lake District; Sansa, Petyr, Lysa, Cat, Ned and all of the other Stark kids. Edmure had been invited but he was of course "too cool" for family weekends away, preferring to live his 32 year old bachelor lifestyle away from snot-nosed Rickon, shouty Arya and the rest of his problematic nieces, nephews and siblings. Sansa can hardly blame him. 

Petyr was a much more involved uncle. Although some may question just how far his involvement with one particular niece went. Lysa has begun to notice the stares, now that she's sixteen and legal in the UK. Her Aunt hates her for it, accuses her of trying to steal her husband. In response to this, Sansa will cry, and her mother will scold Lysa for accusing her sweet, innocent daughter of such seduction. And Petyr will stand in the corner and smirk. Later on he'll text her, telling her what a good, clever girl she is. And then she'll get herself off to that text, perhaps call him up to listen if she's feeling bold. That's just become the routine now. 

Sansa likes the Lake District. It's far from the smog and the hustle and bustle of London that she has grown so tired of. She enjoys sitting outside on the balcony in the dead of night, when she can't bear to listen to her parents make love in the next room over. The woods were beautiful, and she could just sit outside forever if time allowed, watching the way the breeze made the trees dance, smelling the purity of the air. 

Petyr always knows when she's out on the balcony. He joins her, taking a seat by her side. They need no words. These moments didn't need them. He spoke in his actions. His hand would caress her arm, then flitting to her legs bared by her shorts. He'll stroke her hair and her face and sometimes he'll kiss her, if she's been good. During previous nights, he's kissed her face, her neck, her shoulders, arms, legs... Tonight, he chooses to kiss her cunt. 

And they stay silent. 

 

\----------

 

She's 17. Lysa's dead. Threw herself from the top floor window of their... Of Petyr's house. 

At least, that's what the police say. What the newspapers say. What her parents, her siblings and everyone else who knew her say. It's even what Sansa and Petyr said at the court trial. But they knew better. Petyr had pushed her.

It was a time when Sansa was round at their house to babysit Robin whilst Lysa was out and Petyr was 'at work'. Of course he knew that Sansa would be there, that's why he was 'coincidentally' home early from work. 

Unfortunately, he hadn't been the only one home early that evening. They were in Petyr's office, having put Robin to bed, sharing a few quick kisses. If they had stopped at just one kiss then perhaps it could have been passed off as a mere thanks from uncle to niece. But she was sat on his desk, him kissing every inch of her thoroughly with her skirt hitched up and his hand dangerously close to her underwear. 

Naturally Lysa was not too pleased to find her husband in such a position with her niece. In her anger she had tried to throw Sansa out the nearby open window. And that's when Petyr chose his niece over his wife. Pulling Sansa to safety and shoving Lysa out in her place. 

At Lysa's funeral, everyone is dressed in their best black suits and dresses. Apart from Petyr. Sansa has seen all of Petyr's wardrobe and she knows that the suit he is wearing is garbage compared to his other fine garments. When Sansa had questioned him on this outside the church, he simply whispered: "I hardly think she's worth even my mediocre suits, do you?" 

Inside the church, she hears some of Lysa's friends chattering behind her and Sansa does the only logical thing: listen in. 

"Is that the husband over there?" One whispers. 

"Yes, he looks awfully sad doesn't he?" The other answers. 

"Poor thing, it must be so hard for him, keeping it all bottled up inside." 

Sansa nearly laughs at that. The only thing hard for Petyr regarding Lysa's death was trying to convince the jury that he didn't push her. It was Sansa's testimony that swayed the jury's decision. After all, who wouldn't believe a young, crying, Christian girl, devastated over her aunts death? 

During the service, everyone who was remotely close to Lysa gave a speech. Catelyn, Edmure, Brynden, even Sansa gave a heart-wrenching deliverance of how much it hurt to see her dear aunt leave the world before her very own eyes. 

But Petyr? Her loving husband? He stayed silent. 

 

\----------

 

It's her eighteenth birthday and she's been fully corrupted. 

Petyr had let her hold her party at his nightclub, but less than an hour in and Sansa was begging her uncle to show her the other part of the establishment. And Petyr had been all too happy to show her. 

Which lead to Sansa being naked and high on cocaine in the biggest and most luxurious room in her uncle's brothel. 

He had already done so much for her for her birthday. Bought her expensive clothes, jewellery and makeup; let her have the club for free for a night; gave her the best quality cocaine in London in return for a kiss. And now he was giving her what she'd been longing for for years. 

Sansa doesn't know if the cocaine is helping but God does full on sex feel much better than what pleasure they've been getting by on for years. 

"Fuck Sansa," Petyr moans as he pounds into her, "do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this to you? Hm?" 

"I think I- ah!- have a slight idea," she pants, "was I worth the wait?"

"God yes, my girl. My good, perfect girl," 

The pleasure is so intense, it's almost all that Sansa can focus on as her widowed uncle fucks her hard and fast. The sounds she can hear are obscene, an orchestra of pure, rough fucking. The creak of the mattress, the headboard banging against the wall, the skin slapping together, the moans and cries...

Sansa wraps her legs around Petyr's hips, urging him to be as close to her as possible. 

"More, Petyr," she hears herself moan, "I need more of you," 

She throws her head back as Petyr somehow manages to slam into her even harder. The fingertips on her waist are gripping so hard that she's sure that he's going to leave her bruised the next day. That thought excites her more than anything, in her lust driven state as she's being fucked as hard as possible. 

"Yes Petyr, fuck yes. Fuck me harder Petyr, please, please, harder!" She screams out practically incoherent words. The man above her is doing the same as he pounds into her so fast it's as if he would die if he stopped. Both of them have lost all of their senses, their fucking almost animalistic as they cling to each other, desperate to just feel something in their fucked up souls. Sansa doesn't mind his roughness, in fact she craves it just as much as he does, her hips thrusting upwards against his. There was no tender feelings between them as they made love, nothing that Sansa had been told about by her mother during the 'sex talk' when she was a child. It doesn't matter, she doesn't care. This is what she wants and she wouldn't have it any other way. 

And she cries out louder and louder and his hips move faster until suddenly he breaks and he's screaming out her name as he cums. How can a girl not get off hearing that? 

She lies on his chest afterwards, planting soft kisses on his chest and his scar as he plays with her hair.

"I love you Petyr," she murmurs, like Aunt Lysa had for so many years. 

And for her, he's not silent. 

"I love you too, Sansa,"


End file.
